


Kick, Push, Coast

by theonlyconstant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlyconstant/pseuds/theonlyconstant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is on the verge of an illustrious Quidditch career before the accident. If he's ever going to ride a broom again, he's going to have to trust Draco Malfoy to make it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick, Push, Coast

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Harry Potter fic in many years, so I hope it turned out ok! Any mistakes are fully my fault. I am also in no way a doctor or nurse or psychologist just a general disclaimer.
> 
> This story was inspired by the song "Kick, Push" by Lupe Fiasco. I think the song has a rather magical quality to it, especially the chorus. And I know it's about skateboarding, and there is no skateboarding in this fic, but I think the feeling still comes across. Enjoy!

Harry Potter was on the verge of a very illustrious Quidditch career. Being defeater of the darkest Lord and graduating from Hogwarts with top marks left many career opportunities open, and Harry decided to choose the one he could enjoy the most. Having been recruited by nearly every major team in the UK he settled in with a very lucrative contract from the Chudley Cannons. Five years into his contract he was poised to help turn the fate of the franchise around and make into one of the most successful teams in the long, long history of Quidditch. His best friend, Ron, could not have been more thrilled. His girlfriend, Ginny, was excited on two fronts – one because her boyfriend was an amazing Quidditch player, and the other for having the chance to go up against him as a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Everyone was very proud of Harry and very excited for him.

Until the accident.

It had been one of those freak accidents, something completely unexpected. He and Damien Price, the seeker for Puddlemere United, had been in a frantic chase for the snitch - which seemed determined to try and get as close to the sun as possible. They each knew that the limits of flight and their brooms were reaching their breaking points, but neither was willing to give up the possibility of winning. As they closed in on it, arms outstretched, they each angled in such a way that the sun blinded them. With a sudden jerk they pulled away from their flight trajectories and lost control.

The resulting crash had been horrific. All the cushioning charms and cautionary measures in the world couldn’t have helped them.

Harry and Price each spent nearly a month unconscious. When Harry woke it was to find that his leg had broken in three places, his arm in two, and he no longer had a spleen. “You’re lucky,” the mediwitch said. “You’ll fly again.”

“I will?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Surely you will dear,” she said, patting his arm. “Just not professionally.”

Harry collapsed defeatedly into the pillows. He knew that he was lucky though. Price had completely shattered his leg and damaged one of his eyes. He’d probably never been able to get on a broom again. Price was even having trouble counting to ten and saying who the Minister of Magic was. Harry had gotten that on the third try.

Once he was awake and stable, he wasn’t in the hospital much longer. “You’ll do better healing at home, and with a little physical therapy,” the mediwitch explained.

“Physical therapy?” he asked.

“Surely. How else did you think you were going to get back on that broom?”

His friends all came to help take him home from the hospital, to Number 12, Grimmauld Place where he was currently living. In the years since he’d moved in he’d been able to do a lot to make the house more hospitable and habitable, but spending so much time on the road meant he didn’t spend much time there. Molly Weasley stockpiled his kitchen with homemade casseroles and soups set to warm on their own when Harry activated them. Hermione brought medical journals and books on healing and physical therapy, including a lot of information on the power of positive thinking. Ron brought recorded memories of Harry’s games, charmed to play out on the walls like Muggle television, to help motivate him.

Ginny brought all of his clothing and miscellany back from the Burrow.

“What’s this?” Harry asked from his place in the makeshift bed in the living room. He was not yet allowed to tackle the stairs.

“Your stuff,” Ginny said. “Harry, I’ve been thinking – with me going on tour next week and the finals coming up, we should take a break from our relationship.”

“Is this about this?” Harry asked, gesturing to his leg and arm. “Because I can’t play anymore?”

“Not at all,” Ginny said, sitting on the bed with him. She touched his good leg gently. “It’s about me. Listen, Harry, I did come to see you when you were in the hospital knocked out but I still had an obligation to my team to play. And spending that time alone, away, just playing Quidditch and trying very hard not to think about you lying there, injured well – well, I rather liked it. I rather liked not worrying about anyone but myself for a few hours. You need time to heal, and I need time to figure things out,” she explained.

Harry just nodded. The truth was, he hadn’t much missed her in the last several weeks. He had seen her at the hospital several times and that was nice, but there was no desperate longing in his chest for her. It seemed she had felt much the same. And beyond that, he wasn’t really sure where their relationship was going anyway. Although the media seemed to think they were a darling couple and whether or not a proposal was on its way was weekly tabloid fodder, Ginny had confessed to him early on she wasn’t ready and continued to not be ready. He didn’t push it. He wasn’t really ready either. He felt like something was missing, something important. Something he wasn’t really ready to discuss with anyone just yet.

So Harry kissed her hand and wished her the best. She smiled at him warmly, with a faint hint of tears in her eyes. “I knew you’d understand,” she said.

Harry was very understanding. After all, he also felt like he was looking for himself in the same way that Ginny was.

And so, shortly after Harry was moved home and truly single, physical therapy started. Harry went to St Mungo’s three times a week to work with the Healers. He worked on building strength and increasing his mobility, and let the diagnostic and healing spells work their magic. After a few weeks he could walk much better on his own and had a wider range of mobility in his arm. He enjoyed his time at the hospital and the challenge of physical therapy. It was a calming break from how hectic his life had been since – well, since they day he’d found out he was a wizard.

But he missed flying.

“When do I get back on a broom?” he asked Healer Mintgrass, a charming witch he’d worked with often. He was lying on the ground on his back while she slowly rotated his leg around.

“I’m not sure you’re ready just yet,” she said gently. “Your muscles are still extremely tense and tight. I worry you won’t be able to control yourself on the broom.”

“What can I do to help that?” Harry asked.

“Maybe try a few massages, keep coming to therapy. I’ll let you know when you’re ready,” she advised. She wrote down the name of a massage therapist she recommended.

Harry was nervous about the idea, but Hermione insisted it was a good one. She offered to accompany him. Ron snorted and said Harry didn’t want Hermione around for his massage. Harry shrugged and wondered what it would hurt.

He was not expecting to get Sven, a tall and well-muscled gentleman with blond hair that hung in his face and a deep tan. He was not expecting that half way through, he’d get the most ragingly hard erection since he discovered wanking. He was truly, truly not expecting to roll over, lock eyes with Sven and suddenly want to kiss the gorgeous man above him.

Thankfully, he made it through the massage without incident. Sven had been quite the professional about the situation. Hermione was waiting for him in the lobby, having just come from one of her own. “How was it?” she asked.

“It helped,” Harry admitted. He couldn’t bear to tell her exactly what it had helped with. He wasn’t ready to discuss it.

Harry went back to physical therapy on Monday, laid down on the table to allow Mintgrass to cast some diagnostic spells on him and said, with great force, “I’m ready to fly again.”

“Yes, you are.”

**

Mintgrass explained that St Mungos was not capable of teaching him to fly again – it wasn’t within their scope. She referred him out to a special rehabilitation facility that specialized in helping people learn to fly again. She explained that they had enormous expanses of land and specially designed courses to help him relearn the things that his body had instinctively seemed to know. She redesigned his therapy schedule so that he would go there on Fridays instead of St Mungos.

“Only once a week?” Harry asked forlornly.

“To start,” she said. “We’ll see how you do.”

And that was how Harry found himself at The School of Flight.

“School?” he asked the receptionist when he walked in. 

She smiled sweetly at him. “You learned how to do it once, you’ll learn to do it again. We’re also here to teach those who never had the instinct to fly the way you did.”

She helped him check in, and took him on a tour. The facility was indeed huge, featuring several different Quidditch pitches and an obstacle course that circled the entire grounds. Several indoor training areas had different features as well, including places that looked much like the physical therapy rooms of St. Mungos, a large combination indoor and outdoor swimming pool, and several rooms that look more like playrooms than rooms where any actual healing would get done.

“What’s the point of that room?” Harry asked, pointing inside a large one that appeared to be filled with squishy blocks.

The receptionist smiled again. “You never know where you’re going to find healing, Mr. Potter,” she said.

She showed him the men’s locker room where he was to change into proper flight attire for his first session: a tight white tee shirt and tight white pants that would help him stay visible out in the rolling green hills. She met him just outside and eyed him appreciatively.

“Let me introduce you to the healer you’ll be working with,” she said, leading him from the locker rooms towards the outdoors.

“Healer?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, all of our practicing trainers also went to healer school. We’re not going to let just anyone around wizards like yourself,” she explained. Harry nodded. Better safe than sorry, he guessed.

She opened the door outside, and the sun nearly blinded them. Harry reacted instinctively, pulling himself back, fearing the fall. He couldn’t fall, of course, his feet firmly planted on the ground. But all the same he felt the adrenaline kick coursing through him, making his heart beat faster, much like a punch to the kidneys. As he recovered, pulling his arm down, he noticed someone flying towards them. He felt a strange longing. The person wasn’t flying that fast but they flew cleanly, and they stopped short just before reaching Harry and the receptionist. With an utterly graceful dismount, Harry noticed that the trainer walking towards them, who apparently went to healer school and now rehabilitated injured witches and wizards so they could fly again was…

“Harry Potter, this is Draco Malfoy. He’ll be your trainer.”

Harry scowled.

**

He scowled even harder when Malfoy told him they won’t be getting on a broom that day. “I need to see your full range of motion, Potter,” Malfoy explained, “so I know where to start. So in the pool you go.”

“What are you doing here Malfoy?” Harry growled. “Is this a joke?”

“Are you asking if my job is a joke? It most certainly is not a joke, despite what my father may have to say about it. I’ve been here for two years now, came here directly out of healer school.”

“Since when did you go to healer school?”

“Since directly after the war ended,” Malfoy said. “Are we going to stand here talking all day, or are you going to get in the pool?”

“Why do I have to get in the pool?”

“Mostly because I told you so, and for once in your life you actually have to do what I bloody well tell you to,” Malfoy said. “But really it’s because in the pool I can see the range of motion you use to fly better.”

“Are you getting in the pool?” Harry asked.

“Don’t be silly, I’ll just be watching. Can’t very well diagnose you if I can’t see you properly.”

Harry wanted to argue. He wanted to because there was no way that Draco Malfoy went to healer school. There was no way he was working as a trainer at one of the most prestigious flying rehabilitation facilities in England. There was simply no way he could actually help Harry get back on a broom. But then he eyed the broom that Malfoy was still holding and remembered what Malfoy looked like flying towards him and felt a huge tug of jealousy in his chest. And a huge tug of something else.

Harry weighed his options. He could demand another trainer, and if refused he storm out and leave. Or he could figure out a way to get back on the damn broom.

He picked the broom, and let Malfoy direct him to the pool. They went to the indoor side, which was heated with charms to a soothing temperature. Malfoy directed him to jump in and swim around, do some underwater flips and try to stretch himself as far as he’d go. He explained that he’d be watching from a room that was next to the pool, underwater with it, allowing him to observe Harry’s movement more accurately.

Harry did as he was told, feeling foolish the entire time. He contorted himself for as long as he could until he heard Malfoy’s voice, underwater, telling him he could get out of the pool. He forced himself out bodily and sat with his feet in the pool while he for Malfoy. Suddenly, he was blasted by a drying charm from behind.

“Hey!” he shouted, stood up and tried not to slip in the water on the deck. “If we’re going to actually be doing this, if you’re going to actual help me you can’t go casting random shit at me whenever you feel like.”

Malfoy’s mouth quirked to the side. “Something your teenage self should have been told,” he said. Harry looked away. “I was simply drying you, but you’re right, I should have warned you. If you are to fly again, you’re going to have to trust me and this process.” That stunned Harry. Had Malfoy actually apologized for something?

“If?” he asked quietly. He meant that about the flying but also about trusting Malfoy.

Malfoy sighed. “You got hurt very badly, Potter, I don’t know if you really know that. The whole world watched for a month while you lay unconscious. People were quiet terrified you wouldn't come out of it, and you saw what happened to Price. You’re not going to be able to fly immediately. This is going to take some work.”

“It didn’t take a lot of work the first time,” Harry said.

“Of course it didn’t. Children do many physical activities naturally that they either can’t learn as adults or that they forget to do as they grow. But you’ve done tremendous physical damage to your body, and you’re going to have to really learn how to fly it this time. And let’s face it, you probably weren't doing it right to begin with.”

“And I suppose you were?” Harry sneered

“Nonsense,” Malfoy said. “I didn’t know I was flying wrong until I came here. We’re working to get the methods we practice and teach here integrated into the curriculum at schools and expand it to more flying coaches, but things like this go slowly. No one wants to hear they’ve been doing something wrong the whole time.”

Harry supposed that was true. He knew he most certainly would not enjoy it. Still, it was quite a shock to hear Draco Malfoy admit to having done anything wrong. “Where do we start then?”

“Come with me,” Malfoy said. Harry followed him down a long corridor. As they made their way down to wherever it was that they were going, Harry noticed that Malfoy’s dark black flying clothes fit him rather nicely. Then he immediately chided himself for having such a thought. He shouldn't be thinking that way about another guy. No, not another guy, about Malfoy. No, not about Malfoy, about a healer. In his haze of confusion, Harry ran directly into Malfoy.

“Careful, Potter,” he said gently. They reached a door that didn’t look any different from the other doors in the hall, but Malfoy opened it all the same. Inside was what appeared to be a large roller skating rink. It was a track, forming an oval in the room. It sloped downwards towards the middle, and the middle was filled with the large foam blocks Harry had seen filling the other room.

“I’m skating?” he asked. Malfoy was digging in a large chest near the wall, and pulled out what appeared to be a set of rollerblades. He then noticed Malfoy carried a set for himself.

“We’re skating,” Malfoy corrected. “It is remarkably similar to flying in movement. In fact, the movement of it will greatly improve your motion on the broom. We’ll get you back to flying, Potter, and you may be better than ever before. They’ll be banging down your door in no time,” he said.

Harry took the skates from him and dropped to the floor to put them on. “They said I’d never play professionally again,” he murmured.

Malfoy was putting his own skates on while sitting on a nearby bench. “And they may still be right. We won’t know until we try, will we?”

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked, stretching his legs out in front of him. His injured leg ached with effort.

Malfoy shrugged. “It’s my job.”

“I mean why are you doing this job?” Harry asked.

Malfoy stood, surprisingly well-balanced, and skated smoothly over to Harry. “Because I want to help people. I want to give back. And let’s face it - besides doing dark and nefarious things, flying is about the only other thing I was ever any good at.” He extended his hand to help Harry off the floor. Harry supposed that was enough of an answer for now.

“I never thought I’d see Draco Malfoy wearing Muggle roller skates,” Harry said, shaking to his feet.

“Rollerblades,” Malfoy corrected. “It sounds more dangerous than skates.” He cast something over Harry that felt restrictive. He made the same motion over himself. “Cushioning charms to act as padding,” he explained. “Can’t have you hurting yourself all over again. Have you ever skated before, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “Didn’t get to do much when I was young in the Muggle world.”

Malfoy simply nodded, not understanding fully what Harry meant. “It’s really very simple. The movement is mostly in your upper things and hips, which is where most of the movement for flying is also. You just kick off and push,” and just like that Malfoy took off around the track.

Harry watched him, and watched the movement. Malfoy moved like he’d spent most of his life on the roller blades, still a shock to Harry that he’d even deign to put them on. He must have been desperate to do anything to improve his flying game. After Malfoy went around a few times, Harry tried the kick and push. He made it a few feet before landing squarely on his arse. 

Malfoy skated over to him and made to help him up. “That’s going to happen a lot the first few times. Remember the movement is in your hips. It’s all about balance.”

Harry got up and tried again. Malfoy lapped him several times while Harry continued to simply kick and push. Slowly he built up a rhythm to the movements, but had to be careful not to put too much weight down on his damaged leg.

“Good work so far Potter,” Malfoy said, lapping him again. Harry did a double take. Had Malfoy just complimented him? He didn’t have long to consider it when Malfoy turned around and began to skate backwards. “Now let’s see you coast.”

“Coast?” Harry asked.

“Coasting, skating without moving, is very similar to motions you use on sustained broom flight.” Harry nearly winced at how professorial Malfoy sounded. Where had he gotten all of this authority? “The ability to control your hips in a straight line and not need the movement of your legs to propel along mimics the long trajectories of being on a broom,” he explained. “So get in a good kick and push hard, then coast,” and Harry watched as Malfoy’s legs stopped moving while he continued to propel backwards.

So Harry found his balance, kicked off hard and pushed with his opposite leg. When he felt he had enough balance he stopped, put his feet together and let himself coast. 

He was surprised to find it did feel remarkably similar to being on a broom. The controlled movement, knowing any turn of his feet or hips would take him off in a completely different direction – it was all familiar even though it didn’t last for nearly as long. The air around him was whipping his hair back and that felt good too.

Malfoy lapped him again, going frontways this time. As he coasted around the bend, Harry kicked to catch up with him.

“You’re a fast learner,” Malfoy said as Harry caught up with him.

“Always was.”

“And cocky as ever. I’d have thought a good fall like that would have knocked some sense into you.”

“Knocked it all out of me, actually,” Harry replied. He liked this gentle banter. He kicked harder again and took off in front of Malfoy.

Malfoy got the hint immediately and began to race Harry, and they coasted the bends. They stayed neck and neck as they went around. Harry wanted to race, enjoying the quick thrill of competition but he didn’t want to strain his body too much the first time out. He and Malfoy began to coast around another bend when Malfoy suddenly turned backwards again and began to skate facing him. 

“Do try to keep up, Potter,” he said cheekily.

Harry frowned and pushed to catch up with him, but Malfoy stayed just out of reach. As they neared another bend Harry gave a tremendous kick and coasted right into Malfoy. They tumbled downward into the pit with the cushions. Harry felt jostled by the padding charms and his arm cried out in pain.

Harry was surprised to find the cushion pit was relatively deep so as to better cushion. He was also surprised to find that in the confusion, he’d managed to pull Malfoy down on top of him. They were close and sweaty and breathing heavily. Harry was having flashbacks to the massage parlor and was suddenly desperate to get out of the pit. Luckily Malfoy scrambled off of him and stuck out a hand to help him up.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he said.

**

“I’m not going back,” Harry said to Hermione, having related the whole story to her. He happened to leave out the part where Malfoy looked really good in his flying clothes and the part where Malfoy’s body so close to his own had seemed excite him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time – not just physically, but emotionally.

Hermione patted his shoulder and pushed his tea closer to him. “Of course you are, dear. You do want to get back on a broom, don’t you?”

“Not if it’s Draco Malfoy’s broom,” he said, and then swallowed a huge gulp of tea. “That came out wrong.”

Hermione only smiled and patted him again. “Whatever you say, Harry.”

“I’m not going back,” Harry told Ron.

“I have to tell you, mate, I asked around. Apparently the ferret is quite good at what he does. A lot of the major teams are going to that school for assistance with their injured players and they’re seeing major results. And apparently he’s one of the best,” Ron said.

“So what?”

“So maybe you being able to get back on a broom is worth trying to make a little peace between you and Malfoy,” Ron said. Then he pulled a face of disgust. “Did that really just come out of my mouth? Have we been drinking? It’s only ten in the morning.”

“I’m not going back,” Harry told Healer Mintgrass at his Wednesday session.

“Of course you’re going back,” she said, holding his arm out to the side and rotating it slowly. “In fact I think you’d do well to go back more than once a week. You seem to be doing much better.”

“You’re kidding.”

She stared at him. “I don’t kid.” And she promptly changed his schedule to meet at the school twice a week.

Harry went back to his flat and weighed his options. He wasn’t working, seeing as how the Cannons had put him on paid leave, forever hopeful that Harry would be able to come back. The team manager floo’d him weekly to check on his progress. He had lunch with Ron and Hermione when they were available. He got post cards from Ginny once in a while. But other than that, he could not think of a good excuse to get out of getting back on the broom.

Other than his increasingly sexual dreams about Draco Malfoy but no one was really counting those. Certainly not Harry. And he was most certainly not enjoying them.

And so he went back to flight school. Back to training sessions with Draco Malfoy. Which only got increasingly stranger.

Without ever really telling him what they were working towards, Malfoy made him do all sorts of odd things. They skated a lot, which Malfoy insisted was the most helpful thing. They got in the pool and Malfoy made him twist and turn and perform all sorts of stunts that he said would help Harry’s body remember how to move.

Malfoy communicated with Healer Mintgrass to monitor Harry’s progress and adjusted his program accordingly. “What good can this possibly be doing?” Harry asked, in mid-back flip on a large trampoline.

“Trust the process, Potter,” Malfoy said. He said that a lot.

He said a lot of things. While he made Harry roll around a large gym with a stability ball, he told him about getting into healer school and what it meant to him to be able to actually do some good in the world instead of being surrounded by destruction. While he made Harry hang from a trapeze he told him about finding out about the specialty of working with flight while in school and knew instantly what he was meant to do. While Harry swam lamps, Malfoy told him, underwater, how he was just trying to make up for things. For all the bad he’d done. For as long as it took to make up for them. While they skated around the track, Malfoy told him he was sorry. Harry almost went straight into the pit.

Harry said things too. Sometimes, when they were racing around the track, he told him about his fear of letting everyone down by never being able to fly again. When he was on gymnast rings working on his upper body strength, he told Malfoy how he was never really sure how strong he was and how afraid he was when he woke up in the hospital, hearing about the accident. When Malfoy made him jump off the high dive into the pool, he told him how he was desperately afraid of falling ever again. He knew the water was below, but he didn’t trust that it would break.

Malfoy had stood with him at the top of the high dive. “I’m still afraid of fire,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Still afraid of fire. The smell, the feel. I don’t even like candles anymore. You’ve been talking about fears all week. I just wanted you to know you’re not the only one who has them.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Thanks.”

Draco nodded. “Tell you what, I’ll go in, too.”

Harry stared at him. Draco sometimes did what he did, and sometimes watched from the sidelines. Sometimes Harry thought he was just trying to aggravate him, like when he made him walk back and forth across a balance beam for nearly twenty minutes. Whenever Malfoy joined him he felt like the work was more serious and had more purpose.

“Okay,” Harry said. He stood up and walked to edge, thinking that in so many ways this Draco Malfoy was nothing like the one he’d known in school. Sure, he was still boastful and a braggart, but something had changed. But then he supposed they all changed, after the war.

Malfoy walked to the far end of the platform and took his shirt off. Harry himself was standing shirtless in just his flying pants. When Malfoy turned around, Harry saw the long scar cutting across his body, straight down his chest and stomach. He swallowed hard. Maybe it wasn’t so much that Malfoy had changed, and that Harry himself had changed. Maybe it was that they’d never really been all that different to begin with.

“Ready?” Malfoy asked, walking towards him.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Malfoy smirked. “You’re going to chicken out.”

“Am not!” Harry protested.

“And I’ll make sure of that,” Malfoy said, grabbing his hand and launching them both off the platform.

Their hands disconnected in mid-air and Harry felt his mind and body screaming “stop, stop, stop” and he just knew when he landed it was going to be on solid ground, not water, and his whole body would smash apart. He would be ruined for good, he’d never be able to fly again. But instead his body ripped through the water, sinking quickly. He immediately began to push against it until he surfaced. When he broke through and struggled to catch his breath he saw Draco Malfoy bobbing out a few feet away from him.

Harry splashed water at him. Draco laughed.

“You’re ready for the broom now.”

**

Draco told him on Friday he was ready to get back on the broom. Their next session was Monday, which left Harry with the entire weekend to build up fear.

“I’m not ready,” he told Healer Mintgrass in their session. He was only seeing her once a week. But in just a few hours he was supposed to go to the school and get back on a broom while under the tutelage of Draco Malfoy and he simply was not ready for any of that. He reluctantly let Mintgrass pull him off the table.

“Ready as you’ll ever be,” she said, and smacked him on arse. He hated that habit of hers.

He shook while he changed into his flight clothes. He shook when Malfoy handed him a broom. He shook as they walked out to expanse of hills. 

“Ready?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head.

“Potter, don’t be silly. Get on the broom.” Draco mounted his own broom, kicked off and hovered slightly above him.

Harry mounted the broom and jerked it up quickly. He was not three feet in the air when he let out a rather undignified yelp and let himself gently to the ground. He tossed the broom away and sat down.

Draco came down quickly and set his broom to the side as well. He dropped down next to Harry, and they stared at the great wide open of the fields for long moments.

“I think I know what you need,” Draco said at last.

“A pint,” Harry said and Draco snorted.

“Not quite,” he said, and stood up. Harry followed suit, and Draco led them wordlessly back inside. They went down one of the many corridors that Harry still could not tell apart, to one of the many different doors that still all looked the same. Draco stopped and opened a door, seemingly at random. Though he usually pushed Harry inside new rooms first, this time he went directly in before him. Harry followed, and walked right into a wall of squishy blocks. Draco was pressed against the actual wall, looking into the blocks.

“This room is about fear,” he said. “Fear of the unknown, fear of having to work for something, fear of not knowing where you’re going. You can’t truly see where you’re going, and the blocks prevent you from just feeling things out. They provide resistance, so you’re going to have to actually work to get around in here.”

“Ok,” Harry said.

“Come find me,” Draco said, and disappeared into the blocks.

Harry tried to look around the room. The blocks filled it almost completely. It seemed like he’d hardly even be able to move. But Harry had learned a fair amount about magic. He knew that somehow, they would.

“What’s to stop me from just apparating to wherever you are?” he called out.

“Are you so foolish as to think this room isn’t loaded with anti-apparaition wards?” Draco called back. Harry smiled. Of course he’d figured as much, but now he had an idea of where Draco had gone.

As Harry moved through the blocks, they began to change colors. They had started off a bright yellow and slowly dimmed to a pale green. As he kept going they became a calm purple. They offered resistance but would part if pushed a little. It was almost like swimming while walking, except without being underwater. The blocks changed to blue as he started to move in a circular way, trying to find the center of the room. He wasn’t sure if Draco was standing in one place or moving around. Despite the confusion, he found the room rather calming. Draco had been right – he had no idea where he was in the room, whether he was coming or going, and he really had to work to get around in it. The blocks began to change to a calm red color when Harry suddenly backed into Draco. They went tumbling to the ground.

Just before Draco’s head could knock against the floor, Harry reached out to cradle him. Harry’s hand, thankfully on his good arm, hit the ground instead. He fell on top of Draco, very nearly straddling him. He gently took his hand out from under Draco’s head.

“Found you,” he said quietly.

“You did,” Draco agreed. “And you made the blocks turn red.”

“I did that?” Harry asked, still on top of Draco. How was it that in all the time they’d known each other, he’d never really looked at his eyes? Maybe he never really wanted to see them before.

“You did. They’re charmed to reflect the emotions of the seeker, so the healer knows how the seeker is feeling. If they turn dark, there’s too much fear, and the healer lets the blocks allow the seeker through more easily. If they turn lights colors, it means the seeker is calm and finding their way.”

“And the red?” Harry asked.

Draco smirked up at him. “The red means the seeker is feeling passionate about something.”

The blocks seemed to be floating upwards and away from them, still giving a gentle red glow. The light made Draco look flushed. Harry wondered if he looked flushed too.

“Are you passionate about flying again, Potter?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Good,” Draco said calmly and moved to get up. He’d just pushed himself off the ground when Harry pinned him back down. Draco was startled and let out a noise.

“Maybe I’m passionate about more than just that,” Harry said and leaned in. He wanted so badly to kiss Draco Malfoy, a feeling he didn’t fully understand. He also wanted badly to not be rejected, to have Draco push him off in disgust and when did he become Draco and not Malfoy, he wondered.

Harry’s mouth hovered centimeters away from Draco’s, and while he was still deciding if Draco would kiss back or deck him, Draco leaned up and made the decision for him.

Harry had only had a few first kisses in his life, and never one with a man, let alone a mortal enemy. 

He couldn’t recall a better one. It was soft and gentle. He felt the pull of need and desire without being overwhelmed. He felt at peace. He was exactly where he should be – on the floor of a room filled with squishy blocks, kissing Draco Malfoy.

Draco suddenly pushed him away and Harry tumbled to his side. The sinking feeling of dejection came upon him quickly, even as he tried to tell himself that Draco had really started it, Draco had kissed him. Not the other way around.

“I can’t,” Draco said, his voice husky.

“Of course not,” Harry replied bitterly, falling to his back, letting his head knock against the floor.

“You stupid prick,” Draco said, clearly having heard something in Harry’s voice. “I mean I can’t because you’re my patient. There’s a code of ethics.”

Something shifted in Harry’s stomach. Or was it his heart? “Since when do you care about ethics?”

“Since I like my job very much,” Draco replied, reaching his hand out to stroke Harry’s arm. “You’ll be out of here soon enough, I’ve no doubt, and then we can snog all you like.”

Harry reached over and grabbed Draco by the collar of his shirt, pulling Draco on top of him. “Promise?” he asked.

“About what?” Draco said, smirking again. “About the you getting out of here part, or the snogging part?”

“Both, and say fucking this time.”

Draco leaned over him, mouth nearly touching his. “You’re going to get back on that fucking broom, and then we are going to fucking snog,” he said, smirking.

“Deal,” Harry replied, dragging him down for another kiss. “Even though that’s not the kind of fucking I was talking about.”

Draco shifted on top of him, pressing into him roughly. Harry was nearly positive he had never felt anything quite as exciting as Draco Malfoy on top of him, pressing himself into Harry with an unmistakable hardness. “I know exactly what you’re talking about, Potter, and as soon as you’re out of here and back to doing what you do best, I promise you we’ll get to that.”

“Harry,” he whispered.

“You didn’t hit your head did you?” Draco asked, feigning concern.

“My name is Harry. And yours is Draco,” Harry said.

“Now I know you’ve knocked your brains out,” Draco said.

“I’m leaving that job up to you,” Harry said, pulling him down to steal at least one last kiss.

**

Draco had been right about flying. Harry was coming to find he had an annoying habit of usually being right.

The first time Harry kicked off, truly kicked off, he still trembled. Draco watched him carefully, checking his movements and watching for tension. Harry coasted up, twenty then fifty feet, then hovered.

“How does it feel?” Draco called out to him.

“Different,” Harry called back. “The same.”

Draco pulled to hover next to him, knees touching. “Sounds about right,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Good. Come find me,” Draco yelled and took off like a shot. Harry gripped his broom tightly and imagined the kicking feel that got him started around the track when he and Draco skated, the motion that seemed to spur everything on. Off he shot.

He felt shaky and sick, coasting around. He wanted so badly to trust his body and let go of his fear, but the ache in his leg tempered him. He spied Draco in the distance and hurried to catch up to him. The wind pressing against him, the smell of the outdoors, the sight of Draco coming closer – everything combined to make him feel more at ease. As Harry caught up with him he slowed, and Draco turned to face him.

“Not bad, Potter.”

“Harry.”

Draco smirked. “Not bad, Harry. A few more days of this and you’ll be ready for the obstacle course. After that, I’ll have taught you everything I can.”

“I somehow seriously doubt that,” Harry said.

Draco shrugged. “I may be able to teach you a few things yet,” he said. “But those for me to know, and for you to find out.”

“And I intend to.”

**

“Tell me again about the obstacle course,” Ron asked over dinner later that week.

“It wraps around the entire school. There’s different targets you have to hit, flying through rings and over hurdels. Things jump out at you, magicked players come and try to knock you off your broom. The goal is to make it through the entire course in less than five minutes,” Harry explained, sipping his ale.

“It sounds exciting, mate,” Ron said, setting his own drink down on the table. “I’d love to try something like that. Maybe I can have a broom accident at work and talk them into paying for it.”

“Yes, dear, that sounds like a completely appropriate use of Auror funds,” Hermione said, joining them at the table. 

“Right, because using them to research new methods of identifying vampires is so fruitful. Here’s a hint – if it won’t stop sucking at your neck, it’s probably a vampire.” Ron kissed the top of Hermione’s head and headed in the direction of the restrooms.

“What he doesn’t know is that I already got him a gift certificate for Christmas,” Hermione told Harry. “Several training sessions. I think he’ll quite like it.”

“He will,” Harry agreed.

“I know you’ve primarily been working with Draco Malfoy. Would you recommend him? I mean, do you think he and Ron could be in the same room with each other and not hex the hell out of each other?”

Harry shrugged. “If you’d asked me the same question six months ago, I might have had doubts about myself. But he’s not that bad I suppose. Great instructor, surprisingly.”

“Perhaps I’ll suggest him then, see if Ron will go for it. That is if you don’t have him all tied up to yourself,” Hermione said.

Harry choked on his ale. “Tied up, I don’t have Malfoy tied up, why would I do that?”

Hermione smiled to herself. “Well I’m not saying it’s a first date thing, but it keeps things lively.”

Harry stared blankly at her.

“What?” she asked, defensively. “First of all, Darla Hopstead is the receptionist at the school and we happen to be in a book club together. And she says the two of you are the talk of the school, and they can’t wait to see you leave so that you can date properly. And secondly I am allowed to have some tricks up my sleeve, Harry James Potter, and if you’re lucky I might teach you some.”

“Teach him some what?” Ron asked, rejoining the table. Harry and Hermione shared a look.

“Ron, how do you feel about Draco Malfoy?” Hermione asked.

Ron pulled a face. “Poncy git if you ask me, but I hear he’s good at his job. If Harry’s been able to stand him this long he can’t be all bad, right? Why do you ask?”

Hermione shrugged. “Because perhaps you’ll be seeing him around.”

**

The obstacle course was the most enjoyable thing Harry done while at the school. Second most, he corrected himself; the kissing had been the most.

Harry wanted to take everyone he knew on the course. He wanted to race Ron and Ginny, he wanted to make Hermione try it, he wanted Molly Weasley to watch them all and cheer. He wanted to spend each day flying through brightly colored rings that exploded into fireworks when he flew through them, and kicking at imaginary Quidditch players trying to knock him off his broom. He wanted hills to rush up at him suddenly, wanted to have to barrel roll sideways to avoid a charmed hammer swinging at him, and he wanted to do it every day. And he wanted to race Draco. Draco, who was waiting for him at the end of the course, which he finished in only four minutes and twenty nine seconds.

“Excellent time. You were brilliant,” Draco said.

Breathless and sweaty, Harry collapsed against the wall. “Do I graduate?” he asked.

Draco laughed. “Yes, you pass. I’ll sign your papers today. You’re as rehabilitated as I can get you, and officially out of my care. Though you’re welcome to come back any time for some extra help, and I recommend you continue physical therapy for a while longer.”

“Good,” Harry said, reaching out and dragging Draco to him by his collar. “So we can finally get to the business of doing this.” He pulled Draco into him, kissing him roughly and breathlessly.

Draco pushed him back against the wall, sliding his leg between Harry’s. Harry groaned and let his hands wander down Draco’s backside. “Have you ever fucked another man, Harry?” Draco asked, pressing his mouth to Harry’s neck and sucking lightly.

“No,” Harry replied, reaching a hand up to run through Draco’s hair. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Draco replied. “Tell me you’re not a complete virgin.”

“I’m not a complete virgin,” Harry replied, pulling Draco closer. The friction felt amazing.

“Good,” Draco said, sliding a hand between their bodies to grab Harry’s cock through the soft fabric of the flight clothing. “Go home, wash up, and wait for me."

“Tonight?” Harry groaned, pressing into Draco’s palm. “What about right now?”

“Right now I have to get back to work. And you reek. And you really don’t want your first time to be in virtual public up against a wall. So go home, get cleaned up, and I’ll be there when my shift is over.” Draco put his palms flat on the wall next to Harry’s head and kissed him fiercely. “And Harry, do take care of this,” he said, squeezing Harry one last time. “I’d like you to last a while tonight.”

Draco pushed back from the wall and apparated with a pop. Harry groaned loudly and reached down and adjusted himself. The evening suddenly seemed very far away.

**

Harry knew that Draco was off duty at six. By six fifteen, he was frantically pacing around the living room of his house. He made himself stop when his knee began to ache a little. It wouldn’t do to have to stop because Harry was hurting.

At six twenty there was a knock on the door. Harry tried to walk calmly over to it, and tried to open it slowly, but it felt frantic. Draco Malfoy was standing on his doorstep, out of the flight clothes Harry had become accustomed to seeing him in. He looked oddly normal standing there in a white button down shirt and Muggle jeans. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of anything.

If anyone had told him seven months ago, when he was lying in a hospital bed at St Mungo’s still slightly disoriented, that everything would be fine and he’d be having sex with Draco Malfoy in no time, he would have thought he’d woken up in another world. And in some ways, with Draco standing on his door step looking like just another bloke and not his old enemy, he wondered if he had.

“I thought you might answer the door naked,” Draco said.

Harry blinked at him. “I can shut the door, you can knock again if you like.”

Malfoy smiled gently and pushed his way inside. “No need, I’ll take care of the clothes for you,” he said. He grabbed Harry’s hand and began leading him upstairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry asked.

“I know this house, I know where the bedrooms are. All I really need is for you to show me which room you stay in,” Draco explained. Harry let himself be led and when they got near his room he tugged Draco inside. “You would stay in this room,” Draco said, alluding to the fact that it used to belong to Sirius.

“I suppose you know me so well,” Harry said. 

“I know you some,” Draco said, trailing his hand down Harry’s chest. “I’d like to get to know you better. You’ve changed.”

“So’ve you,” Harry said, pushing Draco back into the room, up against the bed. “I think I’d like to get to know you better too.”

“No time like the present,” Draco said, pulling his shirt off. “Shall we?”

It was nothing and everything like Harry thought it would be. Draco’s body was sharp planes and angles, hard in places Harry wasn’t expecting. It felt good to press down on Draco and not worry about bruising, not worry if he was crushing him. It felt good to be pressed back into and worry that he might actually get a bruise, that in the morning he’d see it in the mirror and know the entire night had not just been a dream.

Grinding against Draco was a revelation. As their clothes came off silently and new skin was revealed, Harry felt like new parts of himself were being revealed. This was what he was searching for, this connection and contact. The feeling that was stirring inside him, the pull in his chest – that was what he had been looking for this entire time. He thought briefly of Ginny, and hoped she was finding the same thing.

He couldn’t imagine it looked anything like what he saw underneath him. Draco Malfoy, skin flushed and sweaty, lips swollen and dry from so much kissing, and completely naked. Harry stared down at him for a long time, recovering his breath.

“Draco, I want –“ Harry began, but could not find the words.

“I know,” Draco replied smoothly. He reached off the bed and rummaged through their abandoned clothes. Harry stared at the enticing view Draco’s backside provided, bent over the bed. Just as he was reaching out to touch, Draco rolled back on the bed with his wand in hand. He waved it quickly and shuddered before placing it on the nightstand.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

“It was for me,” Draco said, “to make things easier while you fuck me.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “I thought –“

“Don’t think. Just fuck me already, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?” Draco asked. 

Harry reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lube. “How long?” asked huskily as he began to slick himself up. He poured some on Draco and began to tug at him as well, just for fun.

“Fuck, too long,” Draco said, arching off the bed.

“Since I became your patient?” Harry asked, palm sliding up and down Draco’s cock. It was strange touching another man’s cock, but not strange watching Draco’s face twist in pleasure. “Since the day I walked through the doors?”

Draco shook his head and moaned. Harry leaned down to kiss his neck. 

“Since my accident? When it was all over the news? Were you worried about me, Draco?”

“No,” Draco gasped out. “I mean I was, worried about you. But before that. I don’t know how long. Maybe longer than I can remember.” Harry reached between his legs and slid two fingers quickly inside him. “Oh fuck – maybe longer than I care to admit.”

Harry smiled into Draco’s neck, licking at his pulse. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he said.

“Fucking finally,” Draco replied, and Harry laughed. There was no tension, no strangeness. Just that heart pounding feeling, coursing through his entire body – desire.

When Harry slid inside it was almost effortless. Draco huffed out quietly and adjusted around him. He stretched and arched and looped his arms around Harry, pulling him close. He lifted his hips and Harry shifted and slid in deeper. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“Yes,” Draco replied. “Fuck me.”

It didn’t matter that he’d wanked twice that afternoon in anticipation, Harry knew he wasn’t going to last very long. He fucked hard and fast, and he pumped Draco’s cock while he did it. He wanted desperately to make Draco come before he did, knowing he wouldn’t last very long. It had been entirely too long since he’d had a good and proper fuck and if there was one thing that Draco Malfoy was at that moment, he was a good and proper fuck.

“I’ve been waiting for this too,” Harry panted. “Waiting to see you come undone, waiting to see you enjoying yourself. Enjoying yourself with me. Because of me.”

“Yes,” Draco cried, and his hands were everywhere, tugging in Harry’s hair and pulling at his arms, grabbing his arse. “Yes, all because of you.”

“Next time I’m going to suck your dick, and let you come in my mouth,” Harry told him, pressing in deep and hard, forcing his legs open wider.

“If you keep talking like that I’m going to –“

“Come all over the both of us?” Harry pulled faster, tugging at Draco’s cock almost desperately. “Do it, I want to watch.”

“Fuck,” Draco said one last time and jerked roughly. He groaned as he came in quick spurts across their bodies, across Harry’s hand. “Fuck yes,” he breathed.

Harry leaned down and kissed him roughly, his teeth catching on Draco’s lower lip. Draco’s body felt boneless and relaxed and still tight all at the same time. Harry felt his own body tense, felt a familiar buzz start in the soles of his feet, racing up to his cock first and then his heart and he thought he was going to shout Draco’s name at the top of his lungs but all that came out was a pained moan. He felt Draco’s hands reach up and cup his face, pulling him down into another lip-bruising kiss.

Delicately, Harry moved off of Draco and shift down onto the bed next to him. They stayed that way, breathing heavy and staring at each other for longer than Harry could be sure of. He was studying Draco’s face, the planes of his body, hoping to memorize them all. Draco broke the silence by reaching up and gently running a finger across Harry’s forehead.

“Next time,” he said quietly, “after you let me come in your mouth, I’m going to let you come in mine.”

Harry smiled.

**

If anyone had told Harry Potter that nearly two years after he had his Quidditch accident that he would help lead the Canons to win the championship, and that in celebration he’d be asking his boyfriend Draco Malfoy to move in with him, Harry would have thought they were crazy.

If they had told him that Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had a standing date to race the obstacle course at flight school every Sunday afternoon, and after that they joined Hermione and Harry and Ginny for dinner, Harry would have wondered if that person had been in the accident instead.

If they had explained that somehow Draco had convinced Hermione to try out flying and that she’d actually gotten quiet good, Harry would have laughed. If they had said how Ginny had learned so much from Draco and had been so grateful she had invited him to the Burrow for dinner and that against his better judgment Draco had agreed to come, Harry would have said he’d pay to see that. But he didn’t have to pay to see it. He watched the entire scene with a smile on his face and tried to hold back laughter as all the Weasley men quizzed Draco about flying techniques and he nearly fell out of his chair when Draco offered them all a free session. Then he took Draco home and fucked him over the kitchen table, which was one of their favorite places.

If this mystery person had told Harry that it wasn’t always flowers and roses, and sometimes Harry and Draco fought over ridiculous things, and Draco resented Harry going out for away games and Harry resented Draco working long hours with other patients, Harry might have believed that. It was true, of course, and sometimes Draco and Ron fought and sometimes Draco and Hermione fought, and sometimes Harry fought with Ron and Hermione, and sometimes no one trusted anyone. Sometimes Harry wished that things were simple and that he and Ginny had gotten married and had a boatload of wizard babies. But then Ginny had her first child with her husband, a charming wizard she’d met while playing in Argentina, and then Draco spooned him on their bed and rubbed his shoulders, and then all of the conflict didn’t seem to matter as much.

Harry still had his bad days, physically. He still went to St Mungo’s sometimes, when things got particularly bad. Draco helped him stretch and exercise, rubbed medical balms and creams on him where it ached, and drew baths so hot that the water turned his skin red. He was patient with Harry, something he had learned in healer school. In fact, he was patient with everyone.

If someone had told Harry Potter while he was in his hospital bed that this accident would be one of the best things that had ever happened to him, he never would have believed them.

But it was true.

Harry knew it to be truest in the moments when he was back on his broom, feeling as though he’d never really fallen off. He knew it then because the sense of security he felt came from Draco, who taught him what he needed to sit there and feel at peace with the world. He knew it then, because it came from the simple joy of a good kick, a hard push, and the thrill of the coast.

**Author's Note:**

> You can listen to Kick, Push [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gl83mI69nX4), if you are so inclined!


End file.
